Next Exit
by Ditey
Summary: Another route always brings new surprises...
1. Chapter Un

Next Exit  
  
Pairing: None yet, but who knows? ;)  
  
Rating: PG, cause someone dies  
  
Last Ep Seen: Home  
  
Legalities: Do not own WB, Everwood, etc.   
  
Muse: Okay, so as you know, there is a very talented writer floating around here named Visbot, who has more originality and creativity that normal people do. This was Visbot's 'what if' idea that I'm just borrowing, it's not mine! Thank you so much!   
  
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"Ephram! You're gonna be late again."   
  
The boy trudged down the stairs at his fifth call, mumbling an excuse. His mother smiled at him, dressed in his usual black, and he couldn't help but give a little smile back. He quickly shifted back to his apathetic look before grabbing a breakfast bar.  
  
His father was already seated at the breakfast table, reading his morning New York Times with coffee cup in hand. He looked up from the paper to see his son enter the room, somewhat like a shadow yet somehow lighting it.  
  
"Good morning," Dr. Brown greeted, anticipating a sarcastic remark from his fifteen year old son that was full of nothing else. He got no response, however, as Ephram continued his way to the fridge, and pointed to a brown paper bag lunch left out on the table.  
  
"Someone is unusually quiet this morning," he ventured, knowing he was crossing into the uncharted territory of conversation.  
  
"Someone is unusually interested," Ephram replied snidefully, not skipping a beat at he started to pack his schoolbag. His mother sensed the tension that was present whenever the two men where within fifty feet of one another, which unfortunately was every holiday and occasional moments in the morning. She gave her husband, Dr. Brown, a 'what can we do?' look shared between many parents at one time or another, before walking toward Ephram and reconciling.   
  
"Don't be nervous about tonight. Your dad and I will be there to cheer you on," she encouraged, placing a light touch on Ephram's shoulder and a big smile that tried to assure him his father's attendance.   
  
Ephram looked like he believed it for a moment before resuming his tormented attitude and retorted, "Yeah, I'm sure. See ya."   
  
He stalked out of the room with his backpack slung over one shoulder, until he reached his bicycle with which he started his 1/2 mile ride to school.   
  
Dr. Brown got his head out of his newspaper and asked, "His recital is tonight?"   
  
Mrs. Brown let out a quiet but exasperated sigh before replying, "I only told you ten times."  
  
He checked his watch, confirming the time to be almost seven-forty, and mentally reviewied the day's schedules and appointments.   
  
"What time?" he asked urgently, already thinking there was no way he could postpone Mr. Smith's spinal surgery or the meeting with the MediCare representative.  
  
"Eight, but Ephram's leaving early to go with a friend. You and I are leaving at seven to make it to Jersey on time."   
  
"Will someone tell me why, with all the piano teachers in Manhattan, my son has to study in New Jersey?" He shook his head, confused.  
  
"Because the best one is in Jersey," she replied, looking rather smug.  
  
Dr. Brown shrugged and said, "I didn't know Jersey had the best of anything."  
  
Little Delia, diligently nibbling away at her toast spoke up and responded, "The Giants play in Jersey and they're the best."  
  
The doctor and his daughter proceeded to start their weekly debate over baseball, lighthearted and ending with a bad joke that still made Delia smile. At least he could make someone smile, he thought, finishing his coffee.  
  
He picked up his briefcase and put on his lab coat, and stepped to his wife to give her a short kiss.   
  
"Be home on time." The brief statement had a condescending aftertaste as she looked at him incredulously.  
  
"I will, I will," he reassured, "I'll be home, don't you worry. I'll see you later. Bye Delia! Love you." He took last look at his watch before rushing out the front door. His wife wistfully smiled, for it was all too predictable.  
  
"Doctor, you asked me to remind you when it was seven o'clock," said a nurse, peeking her head into his office later that day. Dr. Brown was on the telephone, reiterating the effects a certain surgery had on motor skills.   
  
He put his hand over the phone, asking, "It's seven, already?"  
  
The nurse retorted, "No, it was seven a half hour ago, when I reminded you the first time."  
  
Dr. Brown sighed. This was what, Ephram three-hundredth recital since he was named piano prodigy at age 4? And there would be plenty more in the future..  
  
The nurse continued, "She called already and asked me to tell you that you're a lousy husband slash father."  
  
"Thanks," Dr. Brown said sarcastically, still holding the whole in his left hand, Mr. Smith on hold. He looked at the phone to the picture sitting on his desk.   
  
It was taken a few months ago, during the summer during their vacation in Paris. Delia, still wearing her baseball cap. It was a blue one, but she owned too many to try and identify. Ephram was behind her, hands on her shoulder in a protective big brother way. Dr. Brown smiled to himself, because no matter how much the two fought, they always were closer than anything.   
  
Ephram's attempt at a smile at least gave the facade of happiness, but Dr. Brown knew what he was really thinking. It was the vacation from Hell, if he remembered correctly, so many fights the concierge sent up security to investigate if everything was alright.   
  
The doctor took another look at the photograph, a candid shot into their lives, the way he was always seen. There he was to the left, turning away from the person taking the picture. He was thousands of miles away from his office, in the city of lights, he was in front of the stupid Eiffel Tower, and he was talking on a cell phone.   
  
Even when he was on vacation, he wouldn't leave his work, and that pissed Ephram off.   
  
What could he do? He was a doctor, a brain surgeon. Could he postpone a surgery, leave a patient hanging in between life and death? What would he say?   
  
"I have to go to my son's piano recital."  
  
Dr. Brown managed a small smile, because he liked the way that sounded.   
  
He realized the patient was still on hold, but he really didn't care. He redirected all his calls to another poor soul still stuck in these small rooms on a Friday night.   
  
Getting up from the desk he had spent most of the afternoon in, he grabbed his winter coat and began closing his office.   
  
He started to turn off the lights when the phone started to ring again. His first instinct was to pick it up, of course, because it was probably those representatives from the pharmacy, or maybe even a long-distance client, which could mean very good business. But he shook his head, determined to start becoming the father he never was, but could start being.  
  
He turned off the lights, locked up, and made his way to his car, still leaving the phone to ring, for some other man to get. Not him. He was a father first.  
  
His cell started to ring once he made it to the highway, and he recognized the number as Julia.   
  
"Hi honey!" he greeted, genuinely excited.  
  
"Andy, where are you?! The recital's about to start in twenty minutes, and the last time I called you were still knee deep in paperwork, I'm supposed to make some 'opening remarks' that I had no idea about, and--"  
  
"Julia," he interjected, his voice calm, "don't worry about it. I'm coming."  
  
"This has to be..wait, you're coming?"   
  
"Yes."  
  
"You're coming to Ephram's recital? What about that thing with the senator?"  
  
"Cancelled. Cancelled all appointments for the entire weekend. I'm planning on calling Schuller first thing in the morning to re-work my hours..or maybe I'll just sleep-in, and we can go out for breakfast. And after, we can take Delia to Macy's, buy her some clothes, and Ephram to that comic book store, and maybe a picnic in Central Park.."  
  
Julia was silent, unbelieving of what she was hearing.  
  
"Andy, are you serious?" she asked, gently and lovingly.  
  
"I am, Julia. I'm starting over. I've waited too long to do this."  
  
Julia forgot all her tirades she had prepared in defense to Andy's tardiness, and couldn't help but smile.  
  
"Just, get down here, okay?" she said, trying to be firm, but failing miserably.   
  
"I'll be there."   
  
Andy felt like a new person. He shed the formality, Dr. Brown, and pitched his lab coat to the backseat. He twiddled with the radio station to get rid of news briefings, and replaced it with a silly Beach Boy song. Moonroof open, doing sixty on a traffic-free lane, ready to take the next exit.  
  
One minute, he was singing along to 'Good Vibrations', and planning the weekend ahead of them, complete with ponies and whatever it was that Ephram called his comic books.  
  
And the next, he was swerving, hit on the side by a truck driver under the influence while taking the next exit.  
  
And he was twirling into the concrete road dividers, spinning and losing control of the wheel and hitting at full sixty miles an hour impact.   
  
And he was showered in glass and buried under steel frames and metal hunks and sparks and tattered cloth.  
  
The new Andy Brown was gone before he could be presented.  
  
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A/N: Well, what do you think? I love feedback, so please review. If you like it, this will hopefully my first chapter fic in a while ;) Pretty please, review? [Gives puppy-dog look, and you *know* you cannot say no to the puppy-dog look] 


	2. Chapter Deux

A/N: Oh my goodness! I actually updated! Believe it or not, this was incredibly hard to write. This was my third draft. So, for all of that time, you're probably expecting something really good. Hopefully, you'll be getting it. A big thank you to all my reviewers, including BellaItaliana (when will you be writing again? I miss your one-shots so much), kisstherain, Catherine, Stephanie, Funky, Rachel, visbot (especially, you're the best) and the others whose reviews got deleted because of ff.net's 'technical difficulties.' Hehe.   
  
Next Exit  
  
Chapter Deux  
  
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The funeral was a small one. Close family and friends. Actually, Dr. Brown didn't have many social friends. The thought struck Julia as odd when she thought of it, looking through her husband's address book to only see hospital numbers and patient refferals. His collegues, fellow doctors, patients who he had touched in some way attended in any case. It wasn't the same, though. They mourned the death of a gift. Not a person.  
  
The Browns were in the front row. If they were to still be called the Browns. Maybe they should adopt Julia's maiden name now that Andy was...Silly thoughts barged in Julia's mind at the most opportune time. Like during the funeral.  
  
It's not like she didn't respect the ceremony or anything. Far from it. But she found herself unable to concentrate on the speakers, blanking out at the words, 'Andrew Brown was more than just a man...' Yes, Andrew Brown was her husband, a respected doctor, albeit little absent-minded when it came to separating the lights and darks in the laundry.  
  
He was also the person lying in the mohagany casket.  
  
Julia cried. She cried and cried until her eyes were red and she forgot what it was she was crying about. She would straighten up and mentally review what she needed to do for dinner that night if Andy was coming home at nine...and then she remembered.  
  
Delia cried. She was too old to be told her father had been taken to Disneyworld or some other fable that even Julia wished she could console herself with. Delia cried because she knew what death was. It was dark and cold and it meant that no matter how late she stayed up, her father would not be coming home from work.  
  
Julia and Delia would spend afternoons in the backyard, swinging. Rocking Delia asleep as if she was an infant again, her small head buried in a maternal embrace. Julia's blouse was inevitably stained by the young girl's tears, no matter how hard they tried to distract themselves with the beauty of the garden. But at the end of the day, Delia wasn't alone in her silent weeping.  
  
Ephram locked himself in his room for hours at a time. Julia wasn't quite sure what he was doing, and told him to distance himself from doing anything illegal in there. When they had their daily, 'coming to grips with reality/mother son talk', he was unusually silent, answering with nods so he could retreat back into his room.  
  
Julia thought Ephram was getting better. He no longer snapped about his incompetant father. The first week, he loudly refused to write a eulogy for the service, quipping he didn't know enough about his father to say anything.   
  
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When Ephram first heard about his father's death, he had just finished his recital. He was up to his shoulders in bouquets of flowers. Emerging from his retreat backstage, he expected to be showered in praise. Interested in the excuse his father had for not showing up, despite his promises. Eager to use some of his remarks back. He had searched the audience, finding only his mother, shrugging as if it would cover for his father's lateness.  
  
When the police told him his father died, his first though was, 'that's a pretty good excuse.'  
  
He was unbelieving for a moment. The high he had reached from playing the piano still ran through him, and he was incapable of comprehending words. When they sank in, it seemed like some sort of karma joke. A 'be careful for what you wish for' punchline. Because, really, how often did he scream in fits of rage his dreams of his father disappearing?  
  
And he defensed into anger, as always. His father's death morphed into another instance in which he had let Ephram down. Immature, melodramatic, irrational, yes. But it somehow eased the need to deal with the reality of the situation.  
  
No one talked on the car ride home. Ephram didn't really expect it to be a time for the Liscence Plate game. Delia fell asleep leaning her head against the window, and Ephram found himself smoothing his hand over her hair.   
  
The next morning was so normal, that it made everything the day before seem like a dream. The standing ovation, whispers of praise in his ears. the police lights and sirens, sobs and apologies for his loss, and playing Canon until his fingers ached.  
  
But his fingers still felt stiff.  
  
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Yes, he hated his father with everything in him sometimes. When he snuck into the house at midnight with as little noise as possible, as if Julia delayed dinner until ten waiting for him. Or when he absent-mindedly prescribed Delia Ambien to cure her nightmares, or forgot her birthday, but gave her a fifty dollar note in the morning to buy some new hats. Ephram hated the way his father could read his newspaper and drink his coffee in six minutes to get to work on time, but his dinner meetings took three hours more than they were supposed to. He hated his optimistism in the mornings, and the way he sang Singin In the Rain ditties when getting ready, and his corny banter.  
  
But at breakfast, Ephram missed his 'plastic surgeon walks into a bar' joke, and someone to notice Delia's new cap.  
  
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The moping was a routine for the Browns. Ephram hadn't seen his mother since dinner the day before, and the sun was about to set again. Days, hours, minutes seemed too long, longer than even History class or the sadistic ritual called P.E. Ephram barely looked at his clockon those days, just passed the time getting lost in a book, or a song, or a drawing, or anything other than the fact that he was sitting in his room alone, and without a father.  
  
He heard a knock on the door, but paid it no mind. His sister would come in, red eyed and blurry teared, and the sight of his sister in that state would drag him down into crying as well. Or his mother, coming in to talk about some self-help group, which he found to be an oxymoron.  
  
The door opened nonetheless, and Ephram turned to see his mother standing in the doorway with a hair clip in her hand.  
  
"How did you..." he began to ask, but his mother cut him off, saying, "A bobby pin is a girl's best weapon." He resumed his drawing and sulking, in that order, trying to ignore his mothers words. Ephram once again was able to conceal his insecurities under a stoic gaze. He called it a gift.  
  
After a few moments, his mother ran out of things to say, and they both just sat in silence. He felt the sun set, lowering his shadow to a ethereal wash. Julia refound her voice after the uneasy silence, and once the first words came out, they just started to come faster and faster.  
  
It was that night Ephram Brown learned of the virtues of a small town hiding beneath the Colorado Rockies. A town called Everwood.  
  
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A/N: Dun dun dun. I live on reviews, so please drop me a line if you have the time. Thanks. 


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